It transports me back to family holidays and what happened in the tiny garden of our chalet one evening.......
Pale moth wings flicker on the lamp.
Outside the blackbirds chink danger –
their distress so great, I at last step
into the warm smother of dusk.
It is his legs I glimpse first,
gleaming yellow in the half-light.
My eye holds his of glinting jet;
feathers fringe a sickled beak.
I do not know who is most afraid,
yet it is me who backs away -
and the stand-off is broken
as he takes flight, wings whispering,
talons gripping the lifeless prey,
ashy feathers floating in his wake.